


The Waiting Room

by staygold



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:26:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staygold/pseuds/staygold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Frank suffers from an eating disorder and hates everything. When his mother sends him to a shrink, he meets someone special in the waiting room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote chapters 1-16 back in 2007 so please forgive any teenage errors! Recently rediscovered this fic and decided to finish it so will update when I can. Previously posted on LiveJournal under 'xdface'.

A pale hand closed over Frank’s as he moved to pick up a five month out of date magazine, and he glanced up to meet a pale face. It promptly tinged pink and apologised. He let go, refolding his arms around himself.  
  
“It’s fine, you read it.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah.” The guy looked marginally happier. It was contagious, like bugs in most normal waiting rooms. Frank couldn’t stand waiting rooms, especially not this one, yet a hint of a smile twitched at his lips. Then it disappeared again as he remembered what he was there for, and how long he’d been waiting, and how much longer he might have to wait.   
  
 _Stupid bastard, if you’d just get a damn grip then you –_  
  
  
“Frank Iero?”  
  
  
He hated that. He really fucking hated that. Yeah, just come in and announce to the rest of the room who your next fuck-up patient is, that’s _fine_ –  
  
  
“Frank Iero? Is he here?”  
  
“Yes.” Frank got up sulkily –  _shut up already_  – and followed the woman, briefly making eye contact with magazine-guy and forcing another tiny smile before leaving.  
  
  
Her office was green. Fantastic. Supposed to calm him down, right?  _Idiots._  It wasn’t anger he had a problem with, although he’d readily admit he wasn’t feeling too civil towards the rest of society today; being forced to go and spill his guts to a shrink was _not_ his idea of humane treatment. At least the room wasn’t as neat and sterile as the corridors outside. “I’m only here because my mom made me come. Just so you know.”  
  
“All right. Take a seat, Frank. I’m Jenny.” He sat down reluctantly; let the woman shake his hand. “So, why did your mom make you come?”  _Oh, here we go._  There was silence for at least a minute – until Frank eventually shook his head. “Well, did she think there was something wrong? Surely she wouldn’t force you to come here if she didn’t have a reason, or think she had one?”  
  
  
This was turning out even more difficult than he’d imagined. “She um –“ He cleared his throat a little, becoming easily distracted by the pink fluffy pen resting on Jenny’s desk. It clashed horribly with the green walls. He didn’t want to be here.  _Don’t stop mid-sentence, she’ll **really**  think you’re nuts._ “She thinks I have, um, an eating disorder.”   
  
 _Time to sink into the floor, please…_  
  
  
“Okay.” The woman’s lack of shock surprised him – mind you, he didn’t know what exactly he’d been expecting. Awkward questions? “Do you think you have one?” Well, that’d been proven right.  
  
“I dunno. I think I’m okay.” His voice had never sounded so staccato; it irritated the hell out of him. “Look, I don’t want to be here, okay? I don’t wanna talk about this, I get enough hassle already. I wish people would just quit poking in my business.”  
  
  
“What do you mean by hassle?”  
  
  
Far too many questions and minutes later, Frank felt drained. All she’d done was persuade him to have a think and come back next week, but he still felt like she’d taken him to pieces and had a nose around and stuck him back together more loosely than before.   
  
“Gerard Way?” Jenny’s next fuck-up was announced. Magazine-guy stood up, pushing his dark hair off his face as Frank walked back through the waiting room on his way out. He pulled a face at him before leaving.  
  
“Have fun.”  
  


~

  
  
  
Frank locked himself in his bedroom as soon as he got home from school the next day, only stopping to get a drink from the kitchen. He had to lock the door in case his mom came home early. He had to lock it to get himself some peace and quiet.  
  
  
No, he wasn’t jerking off. Just sitting on his bed, back against the wall, eating shit he’d bought on the way home from school. Nothing wrong with that.  
  
 _So why are you hiding?_  
  
Fuck off.  
  
The chocolate was starting to make his insides feel sticky and sick; some part of his mind knew that meant ‘stop it’, but he didn’t hear it, or if he did it made no difference. He wanted it. He didn’t care. The world could take whatever else it fancied from him, but it couldn’t fucking stop him doing this if he wanted to.   
  
  
It didn’t give him the victory he wanted. It gave him satisfaction - a sense of defiance, he guessed – and it numbed him; but it was mechanical. He’d remember he had homework to do, or something on TV he’d wanted to watch, yet he’d carry on like he didn’t know how to switch the machine off until he ran out, or felt awful, or heard his mom arrive home from work.  
  
  
Then he’d feel unbearably bad and reverse everything. Like now.  
  
  
Hanging over the toilet, gagging, gasping – squeezing his eyes closed, feeling his heartbeat race and hearing it pound threateningly in his ears. Thankfully no one interrupted him. A few weeks ago his mom had overheard him throwing up and, assuming he had some kind of stomach bug, let him stay off school for a few days and not eat much (that had been great). Second time she’d asked more questions. Third time she’d sent him to see Jenny – and probably had a nose around his room too. He was pretty sure if the same thing happened now, she’d tie him to a chair and force-feed him regular meals until he was ‘cured’. And so he’d learned, quickly, never to risk it while she was in the house. Although, if necessary, he’d wait till she decided to have a shower then sneak out and force up what he could in the bushes at the back of their garden.   
  
  
He knew it wasn’t normal. He knew it wasn’t nice. But it was his, and it wasn’t too much of a problem, and he didn’t – _did not_ \- want to talk about it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey.”  
  
“Hi.”  
  
Gerard, the magazine-guy, was there again. It was nice that he’d remembered him: having someone to make idle conversation with was potentially a good way to ease waiting room boredom. Frank found himself wondering what was wrong with him - why he was there - and it occupied his mind for a good few minutes before he dredged up the confidence to blurt out in the too-quiet room, “How long you been coming here?”  
  
“A few months,” Gerard replied, looking slightly surprised but unfazed. Frank had to dig his nails into his hand to avoid gawping mindlessly at those gorgeous eyes he hadn’t really noticed last week.  
  
“Does it help?”  
  
“Sometimes.” Gerard shrugged. Frank sighed.   
  
  
“Frank? Do you want to come through now? My last appointment cancelled.” It was Jenny already.  _Not really,_  he wanted to reply,  _but it’s not like I’ve got a choice now, is it?_  Giving Gerard a ‘see ya’ glance, Frank hoisted up his rucksack tiredly and followed Jenny back to her office, scowling enviously at her slender back on the way down the corridor. Fuckers could at least have set him up with someone fat and ugly enough to make him feel better.  
  
  
“So,” she began calmly once he’d dropped his bag on the floor unceremoniously and sat down, “Have you thought of anything you’d like to talk about since last week?” He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the question.  
  
“Not really. Well, I thought a bit, obviously, but I don’t have anything to say.”  
  
“You still think you’re okay?”  
  
“I still think I don’t want to discuss this.”  
  
Jenny gave him a searching look. “Can I ask you some questions?”  
  
“That’s what you’re here for.”  
  
“Will you try to answer them honestly?”  
  
  
Frank shrugged, and then nodded reluctantly, mentally reserving the right to lie if he felt like it. Why the fuck was he even being subjected to this? He didn’t _want_ it. And yeah, maybe he did feel like a spoilt brat, wishing he could just throw a tantrum and hide somewhere, but didn’t he have some kind of _right_ not to speak to this woman if he didn’t want to? She plucked him out of his silent rant with a horribly blunt question:   
  
“What have you eaten so far today?”  
  
  
He glared. She didn’t flinch. “I had a milkshake at lunch.”  
  
“Milkshake isn’t food. You haven’t had breakfast or lunch then?”  
  
“No…”  
  
“Okay. How about yesterday?” God, yesterday. He didn’t want to talk about yesterday. Or any other evening, for that matter.  
  
“I had pasta for dinner yesterday.” That part _was_ true.  
  
“Anything else?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“What do you mean, not really?” Frank felt the heat rise in his face; struggled not to jump out of his seat and just walk off.  
  
“I mean, not really.”  
  
“Did you throw up?”  
  
  
He stared at her blankly. How – what – was she even _allowed_ to ask that?  
  
  
That couldn’t possibly be politically correct.  
  
  
Just…no.  
  
  
“Yeah.”  _Oh, fuck. Why?_  Had he actually said that? Her face was too impassive to tell, but he was pretty damn sure he had. “I mean, I didn’t throw up just ‘cause I ate, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he added in a faintly nervous rush, “I felt sick.”  
  
  
“It’s not up to me to make assumptions, Frank.” She sounded just as calm as before. He couldn’t fucking understand her. “I’m just here to listen to whatever you have to say, and help out if you want me to.” He nodded shakily, the dim 4:30pm light glinting on his hair. “Do you feel sick often?”   
  
“I guess.” It was turning into a riddle. He was telling her stuff he couldn’t make sense of, and he didn’t like it one bit.  
  
“Any idea why?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“The ‘not really’ again.”  
  
“Will you just _leave_ it, please?”  
  
  
Jenny let him have his silence for a few minutes. Finally, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to talk again without persuasion, she broke it. “Anything you say in here is confidential, Frank. You don’t have to worry about what you tell me, or any other kind of doctor. No one’s going to judge you.”  
  
He gave her a scrutinising look. “Are you sure?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  


~

  
  
  
“What’re you doing?”  
  
“Waiting for the rain to stop a bit. I left my jacket at home.” Not true – he’d had it stolen at school. But this guy didn’t need to know that.  
  
“I could give you a lift if you don’t live too far away. It’s freezing.”  
  
  
Gerard’s appointment was at its usual time although Frank’s had been early; Jenny’s other patient had decided to turn up late after all. Frank wondered why the guy sat and waited for so long every week instead of just coming in ten minutes before he was scheduled. Still, if he didn’t, Frank wouldn’t get to chat to him. And that’d make this whole shrink business even worse. He smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks.”   
  
  
Yeah.  _Never go with strangers._  He knew. Sure, it was dangerous. Frank had a tendency to do dangerous things on impulse. But he didn’t think this was one of them – in an odd way, he trusted Gerard even though they’d only met twice in a waiting room. Plus the guy was only a couple of years older than him judging by looks, so it wasn’t like getting in a car with some weird old man who’d drive him away and molest him, one wrinkled hand still on the steering wheel.  
  
  
Wait, _why_ was he even thinking that? Ew.  
  
  
Basically, he wanted Gerard to give him a lift, even if he knew it meant he wouldn’t be able to stop off and buy anything on the way home, and he’d feel like a fat lazy idiot later on for sitting in a car instead of walking. It was _raining_ ; if he walked home in the rain he’d have to dry off and get changed, and he couldn’t be assed. And it wasn’t very often that people around his age offered him anything other than insults. He liked it.  
  
  
“Whereabouts do you want dropped off?”  
  
Gerard’s car was warm and silver, which Frank found a hell of a lot more calming than Jenny’s cluttered green office. He caught himself wanting to say ‘I don’t’ for a second but quickly got a grip and murmured his address, thanking the other again. Gerard explained he could easily drive Frank home and get back to the practice with minutes to spare before his appointment. The whole conversation felt pointless, and Frank began to wish he’d just walked in the icy rain and gone to the supermarket. He tried to spark up something more interesting instead of pining for what wasn’t going to happen.  
  
  
“Why do you get there so early when your appointment isn’t for ages?” Gerard shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.  
  
“I don’t like being late.”  
  
“They wouldn’t care if you were late though. Jenny took that other guy today even though he was late.”  
  
“What, do you _want_ me to turn up late?”  
  
Frank blinked in surprise. “No, I was just wondering…”  
  
“Well.”  
  
  
They didn’t speak much more for the rest of the drive. Gerard opened the window to have a smoke and ended up letting Frank try his first cigarette (which was a pleasant distraction from the tight atmosphere but slightly disgusting at the same time), but nothing eventful took place. When they eventually pulled over outside his house, Frank just sat there and looked at it, stomach knotting with anxiety at the thought of what he might do hanging around in there all alone instead of staying in the comfortable, smoky car with an almost-friend. Gerard nudged his arm lightly. “Hey. I have to go. What is it?”  
  
  
His room was so empty. Empty space, empty wrappers, empty Frank. Clutter like in Jenny’s office didn’t seem to fill it up. “Nothing. See you next week, I guess.”   
  
  
Gerard suddenly enveloped him in a hug; he stiffened, and then relaxed a little, trying not to start crying like an idiot. “You’ll be okay. I’ll see you later.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  


~

  
  
  
Frank hadn’t told Jenny everything. He’d sat there pulling at his sleeves for several minutes, debating in his head what he should tell her and what he shouldn’t, until she’d said ‘time’s up’ and ‘well done’ and ‘we can carry on next week’. He hadn’t known what to say. He’d nodded at her blankly and gone back to the waiting room, where Gerard had made him feel a lot better than she could ever manage just by offering a lift.  
  
  
That hadn’t worked out so well though. First off, he’d realised general conversation was something he wasn’t very good at. Secondly, not getting out of the car until he’d been hugged and wanted to cry just made him feel like a pathetic loser. Thirdly, he’d just eaten and thrown up half the food in the kitchen because getting a lift had meant not buying anything. His mom was bound to get suspicious, and he thought he might just die of shame if she worked it out, which she was perfectly likely to do.  
  
  
He hated this. He wanted his own house so he could do whatever he felt like without being watched or nagged or made to feel bad about it. He wanted somebody who understood, and at the same time he didn’t because then they’d _know_. And he didn’t want anyone knowing what disgusting things he did when he couldn’t stand thinking anymore. He wanted to be left alone.  
  
  
No. He didn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hah! He actually fits!”  
  
  
Frank was shut in a locker. He didn’t know if the kids on the other side of the metal door were poking fun at his height or his weight or both, but he knew he was panicking too much to be mad, screaming his throat raw as he attempted in vain to batter his way out. They laughed. His fear melted into a burning rage, and he let hot, angry tears wet his face, knees pressing so hard against the metal it hurt.  
  
  
He’d slept facing the wall again. That was what he’d punched and clawed at and shoved his knees into. His throat was raw: from throwing up twice the night before, not screaming, although he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t made a lot of noise in his sleep too. Time to get dressed and go face reality, and he’d already exhausted himself for the day.  
  


~

  
  
  
“Mom, I don’t feel well.” Frank curled up on the hard chair, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his cheek on them lethargically. He’d quickly decided he wasn’t going to school today even if she forced him out of the house. He’d spend six hours wandering aimlessly in the rain if he had to.  _Not. Going._  
  
“Eat your breakfast, you’re just tired.”  
  
“No, I honestly feel sick. And my head hurts.” She tilted his face upwards and gave him a scrutinising, accusatory look before giving in. His eyes were bloodshot, she reasoned; he _looked_ ill. One day off school wasn’t going to hurt, even if he probably could have survived going.   
  
“All right, go back to bed. There’s soup in the fridge for lunch. Want some water?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks.”  
  
  
It was weird how time seemed to stop whenever Frank got the day off school. He’d have to wait, twisted under the bedcovers, until he managed to slip back into a restless sleep – then he’d wake up again every half hour or so, until he eventually became too cold and uncomfortable to stay in bed any longer, at which point he’d shower and get dressed. He’d get so starving hungry he’d have to stay in his room watching movies for fear of eating anything (he’d already poured the soup down the sink in a statement of ‘I won’t do it’). Suddenly it would be late afternoon and he’d realise he’d wasted the day away. It always resulted in, simultaneously, a rush of relief and a guilty conscience.  
  
  
It was still better than fighting through the endless hours of the hell he called school.   
  


~

  
  
  
“No uniform today?” Gerard smirked. He was looking Frank up and down – not so subtly – taking in his jeans and oversized black t-shirt. Seeing him without a shirt and tie, pale arms wrapped around himself, was startling. Then again, Frank looked different almost every week. He seemed permanently colour-drained and fragile despite his lively conversation. His eyes were constantly bloodshot. Other than that, it was all change – he’d be round-cheeked then thin as a rake then normal again in the space of a few weeks. He could go from grinning so much it was painful to pulling at his sleeves anxiously in minutes. Gerard knew _he_ behaved strangely, but watching Frank was like a continuous ‘what next?’  
  
  
This week was one of his skinny-anxious weeks, although he smiled a little at the question. Gerard didn’t mention anything. He never did.  
  
  
“Nope. I stayed off school.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
Frank shrugged, chewing at his sore-looking lip. “Didn’t feel great. And I hate it anyway.”  
  
“Yeah, I hated it too.”  
  
“You in college?”  
  
“I was doing art, but I had to drop out.” The guy’s voice wavered slightly. “Might start again sometime though.”  
  
Frank nodded, wondering for the millionth time why Gerard was seeing a therapist (he’d gotten over the word ‘shrink’ a while ago). He hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask. He was worried about getting snapped at like the time he’d talked about being late – besides, Gerard had never asked why _he_ was there. And really, if he had, Frank wouldn’t have been too keen on trying to explain anything.  _Maybe it’s just rude._  Frank could be really fucking nosy sometimes though.  
  
  
“I’m gonna leave school at the end of this year.”  
  
“Any idea what you want to do?”  
  
“Not really.” This time the ‘not really’ wasn’t a cover up – he actually DIDN’T know what to do with his life. Pretty damn depressing, if you thought about it.   
  
“Just don’t end up working in a cinema. It’s shit.”  
  
“You work in a cinema? You get discounts for movies though, right? Can’t be that bad.”  _Except, if you worked there, you’d probably live on popcorn, end up obese and die of a heart attack while watching something scary._  
  
“It _is_ that bad. You ever tried cleaning up puke?”  _Yeah._  “Kids always go see movies as a birthday treat and throw up under the seats from too much sugar. And finding people shagging in the back row when you go in to clean up is the worst.” Gerard made a face and slumped further down into his seat. “But yeah, I get discounts for me and anyone I’m with.” His eyes lit up suddenly; the cartoon-ish ‘ping!’ of a light bulb appearing as an idea occurred to him. “Hey, we should go see a movie sometime!”  
  
  
That brought a little colour back into Frank’s cheeks. He felt oddly like he’d just been asked on a date. Gerard evidently realised it too, because he quickly backtracked, face dulling again. “I mean, if you want to - we don’t have to. Just, if there’s anything good on –"   
  
“Yeah. Sounds fun.” Gerard brightened once more at Frank’s agreement, at how he’d gone from anxious to smiling so quickly. He wouldn’t mind taking the kid out every fucking night of the week just to see that smile for a few minutes. It completely transformed his face…not that he hadn’t had a perfect face to begin with…  
  
  
He was glad when Jenny came and called Frank through before he ended up saying or doing something stupid.


	4. Chapter 4

“No school today?”  
  
  
Jenny had also noticed Frank’s lack of uniform. He shook his head, waiting in resignation for the latest torrent of questions. She knew nearly as much as she could possibly know by this point – growing incredibly tired of dodging his way around cross-examination, Frank had finally explained things as well as he could manage on paper and handed it to her at the end of a previous session, walking out before he could be humiliated any further. He’d made it clear in the letter that he knew what he was doing, really wasn’t bothered, didn’t need therapy, and thanks for whatever she’d done, but that he didn’t want to turn up anymore because it was just embarrassing. It was all true. Well, ninety-eight percent. He got bothered _sometimes_. Didn’t everyone?  
  
  
He’d had to keep coming anyway. His mom wouldn’t take no for an answer. And Jenny thought he had problems.  
  
  
Problems with _interference_ , maybe.  
  
  
“No. I didn’t want to go. And I was feeling pretty shit.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“You _know_ I hate school.”  _Dumbass._  “I’ve just been having like, a sore throat and being tired and stuff. Think I might be getting flu. I don’t feel too bad right now though.”   
  
“You still aren’t getting along with anyone in school then?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Have you considered that feeling ill might be caused by skipping meals or throwing up?”  
  
“Not really.”  _Yes._  “I’m pretty sure it’s flu. I took painkillers and had a sleep and I’m feeling okay. And I’m not _that_ bad.”  
  
“Oh? How’ve things been going then?”   
  
  
Frank scowled at her: she’d told him last week to try distracting himself with something he liked whenever he got worked up or felt like losing control. He had to try treating meals as medicine – he might not like them, but he had to take a little or he’d get ill. He had to be less hard on himself too, apparently, if he messed anything up.   
  
  
It was all too contradictory, really. He wasn’t supposed to mess up, but if he did it was okay? He had control, but he had to eat when he didn’t want to?   
  
  
 _Fucking bullshit._  
  
  
“It’s useless. If I manage one thing I get worse at something else. I don’t get it. There’s no point.”  
  
“Explain.”  _Oh, fuck you._  
  
“Well…if I eat normal meals, y’know, it just makes me fat and I throw up more anyway. And if I distract myself for a while I’m worse later on. It’s counterproductive.”  _Big word. Go figure._  He still couldn’t quite get over having to be this open with anyone - let alone Jenny. “I was better doing what I was doing before.”  
  
“How long did you try for after we talked about it?”  
  
Frank’s scowl reappeared. “Couple of days. I couldn’t do it; I didn’t _want_ to. It just made me feel ew. It stressed me out more than I ever was in the first place, if you want to know.” He really wanted to rub it in, he realised. He was pissed off with her. She kept telling him he was the one in control of his life then trying to _change_ it. He wanted to throw her failing methods in her face and make her cry.  
  
  
Just thinking it made him feel a bit guilty.  
  
  
“Frank, I did say that it wouldn’t be fast or easy. We talked about this. It’s a cycle you’re stuck in that just aggravates things – you feel bad, you won’t eat, you feel bad anyway, you eat to make it go away, you feel even worse, you make yourself throw up and it’s back to square one. You’ve _told_ me you’re not happy with it.”  
  
“And I’m telling you I’m even less happy with this! It’s screwed up!”  
  
“So what happened after the couple of days? You went back to normal?” That sobered him up.  
  
“Not exactly. Like I said, it just made me fat, so I had to lose that first, ‘cause it was disgusting. I’m kind of back to normal now though –“  
  
“Will you go and see a doctor if I make you an appointment?” Frank glared, almost more irritated at being interrupted than at the question.  
  
“What for? I hate doctors.”  
  
“I’d just be happier if you got a check-up. With having pains and being tired – and you’ve lost weight –” Frank’s face brightened even as he denied it. “You have. I’d just like to know if the doctor thinks you’re okay before we try anything else – check whether it’s flu or not. Will you go?” Jenny moved round the desk to do something on her laptop. “There’s an appointment free tomorrow morning.”  
  
“I guess…”  
  
  
Frank figured he’d at least get off school again even if it meant some weirdo doctor measuring and weighing and looking down his throat. Sure, it wasn’t as good as just staying at home, but after the locker dream…well, _anything_ was preferable to donning a shirt and tie and walking through those gates.   
  


~

  
  
  
“Be back in a minute.”  
  
  
Frank’s mom had forced him to stay at the table and have some ice cream for dessert. He’d already eaten a ton of the same kind earlier and forced it up again. She didn’t know that, obviously, and was adamant that he ate it, but he felt like he was being spoon-fed something he’d just puked, and it was torture. Luckily Gerard had phoned to his rescue just as he’d started to pick at it, stomach clenched; he’d dashed out of the kitchen gratefully to answer the ringing, hoping that if the stuff melted while he was gone, his mom might just give up and pour it down the sink.  _Thank you, oh great Gerard in the sky…_  
  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Frank?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me.” There was an awkward moment as the guy cleared his throat.  
  
“Um. So what night do you want to come to the cinema?” Frank wasn’t sure why the conversation was so nervous when they’d swapped numbers just a few hours ago to arrange this, but it was.  
  
“Any time really. I’m not busy.”  
  
“Tomorrow?” He could almost see Gerard’s face at the other end of the line, darkening and biting his lip, worrying about sounding too eager. _Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t like you that way. Why the fuck would he?_  Frank sighed quietly, careful not to breathe down the phone, refusing to get his hopes up or let his imagination run away with him. He was just a short ugly weirdo with a shrink and no friends and a pushy mom. Gerard might have a therapist too, but at least he seemed to possess some social skills. Not that he’d ever heard him talking about friends.  
  
  
“Tomorrow’s good.” He couldn’t believe he’d even been thinking of Gerard like that. He had to stop it.  
  
“Oh, great. Will I pick you up?”  
  
“If you don’t mind.”  
  
“Be ready by six?” ‘Be ready’? Jeez, it really did sound like a date. Frank caught himself trying desperately to think of something he could wear that he’d actually look half decent in. He couldn’t.  
  
“Sure. See you then.”  
  


~

  
  
  
When he returned to the kitchen, the half-melted ice cream was still sitting there – but he could hear his mom taking a shower. The bastard stuff went down the sink with a little hot water. Jamming the bowl in the dishwasher, Frank crept out the back door into the dark, made it to the end of the garden without tripping over anything. Fingers gouged the back of his throat. He couldn’t find words disgusting enough to describe the sound of barely-consumed dinner coming up slowly, over and over.  
  
  
He’d thought he’d feel light and empty and exhilarated, sucking in the cold night air, ready for another day. But as he walked back to the house in a daze, all he knew was the thumping in his chest; the dizziness and raw disgust in his throat that made him want to drop to his knees and do it again, involuntarily. Nothing left him feeling clean. Nothing made anything any better.  
  
  
Trying not to choke on it, Frank drank a glass of water and went to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

“Bye mom!”  
  
  
 _Bitch._  She’d made him eat dinner before leaving with Gerard because he’d ‘be back too late’ (something he’d been happy about). Not only that, but when he’d changed into the baggiest clothes he owned – because eating _her food_ made everything else feel tight and disgusting – she’d told him he looked like a homeless person and immediately barged into his room to pick out a fucking outfit. And now he looked ridiculous, because although he’d done his hair pretty good, she’d forced him to wear his best jeans and a hoody that was practically _clingy_. He could feel the jeans digging into his hips and the top rubbing against his sides. He didn’t just _look_ ridiculous, he felt like a less-girly version of a pig in a fucking party frock.   
  
  
Gerard turned up ten minutes early, looking amazingly surreal in a black velvet jacket, his hair messed up like he’d just been rescued from a hedge monster. He interrupted the hundredth argument between Frank and his mom, and the former almost snorted at the expression on her face when she saw Gerard’s hair. He’d already had her whining questions in his ear all evening about who the guy was, what he was like, why he went to therapy, and blah-blah-blah, hardly any of which Frank could answer. Now her suspicions about her son’s first friend since childhood being an absolute maniac were probably confirmed. It was incredibly satisfying.  
  
  
“So, how was your day?” Gerard enquired with a smile as Frank finally escaped his mom’s demands of ‘don’t stay out too late!’ and sat down, folding his arms self-consciously. His tenseness dissolved a little when he realised he was out of the house, with Gerard, back in that nice smoky car.   
  
“Pretty shit actually. I just went to the doctor’s then stayed at home. It’s improving now though.” Oh God, had he really just said that?  _Fuck._  How cheesy. Gerard was grinning in amusement.  
  
“Good to hear it.”  
  
  
The movie was some ridiculous thing about a kid getting picked on in high school and taking revenge when he randomly realised he had magical powers. Frank wasn’t really paying attention: he murmured agreement when Gerard gushed something along the lines of ‘I wish I could do that’, but mostly he was distracted by the M&Ms Gerard had bought to share; disgusted at himself for wanting to eat them after already having dinner, and at the same time practically drooling with the effort not to. When Gerard tilted the bag to offer him some he couldn’t resist. They tasted amazing. And so he ended up picking at them, pretending to watch the film, until he caught Gerard’s screen-lit face gazing at him intently and suddenly felt like the pig in the party frock _at_ the fucking party.  _You’re disgusting. This is disgusting._  “I’ll be back in a minute.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
  
Throwing up in the cinema was even worse than at home. There were _people_ outside the cubicle doors. _People_ could hear him gagging. It didn’t bother him so much, because they’d never see him again and didn’t know he was doing it deliberately, but it was still really gross. He hadn’t taken any indigestion tablets with him either, and it hurt as badly as always.  
  
  
Gerard looked up at him when he walked back into the screen room and sat down, feeling all shaky. “You took ages, I was getting worried!” Frank just forced a smile; Gerard frowned. “Were you sick?”  
  
  
 _Shit._  Not much point denying it now, was there? He must smell puke-y even after rinsing his mouth out and washing his hands and face. How fucking horrible. He nodded.  _Say goodbye to ever getting invited out again, Frank…_  
  
  
“Poor Frank.” Gerard wrapped an arm around him, not seeming at all disturbed. “You okay? Want me to take you home?” Frank was stunned…then he just felt like a liar. Gerard didn’t know it was his own fault he’d been sick. He must just think he was ill, seeing as he’d mentioned going to the doctor this morning. And Frank wasn’t going to correct him. _You’re a freak._  
  
“Nah, I’m fine now.”  
  
“You sure? We could go take a walk around the car park and get a drink –“  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“All right. Just say if you want to.”  
  
  
Gerard’s arm stayed where it was for the remainder of the film. Frank didn’t complain. Head resting tiredly on the other’s warm shoulder, he found himself increasingly reluctant to move, even when the end credits appeared and Gerard shifted a little, squeezing his arm to see if he’d gone to sleep. “Frankie?”  
  
“I’m up, I’m up.” He gave a short laugh.  
  
“Wanna get a coffee or something before you go home? You’re all pale.”  
  
“Sure.” If it meant he got to stay out with Gerard longer, definitely. And he’d rather smell of coffee than puke when he got back – his only friend knowing he’d been sick was embarrassing enough without his mom catching on…  
  
  
Gerard kept a hand on Frank’s back until they’d bought some coffee and sat down in the cinema foyer to drink it – the younger man was perfectly able to walk by himself, but he still looked ill, and besides - holding his back as they walked felt nice. He hadn’t been told not to either, so it obviously didn’t bother Frank. They sipped coffee from cardboard cups in amicable silence; one almost bursting with protectiveness, the other waging an argument with himself over whether or not he should just admit he wasn’t ill. The ‘not’ would have won out if Gerard hadn’t gone and decided for him.  
  
  
“Did you make yourself sick?”  
  
Frank’s eyes widened; he forgot about the coffee in his mouth and nearly choked on it, managing to splutter out a “What? Why?”  
  
“You’ve got marks on your hand.” Glancing down, he saw to his disgust that the first three knuckles on his right hand were, indeed, red.  _Yuck._  He guessed it would be better to use a toothbrush or something, but he tended to have to improvise. “I mean, I wouldn’t have asked, but I’ve done it a few times before so I guessed –“  
  
“It’s okay…um, yeah, I did. Look, I know it’s really gross, I’m sorry if I freaked you out –“  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Frank, honestly,” Gerard interrupted calmly as he started to panic. “I just hate seeing you all wound up; you need to smile a bit more.” He grinned until Frank followed suite. The latter felt a surge of sparkly relief go through his aching chest. “That’s better.”  
  
“Can I ask you something then? We’ll be even-steven.”  
  
“Fire away.”  
  
“Why are you in therapy?”  
  


~

  
  
  
Frank wondered if it had been so wrong to ask. He’d thought it was perfectly acceptable after Gerard coming out with something like ‘did you make yourself sick?’ but evidently not.   
  
  
The guy hadn’t talked to him as they’d finished their coffee, or left the cinema, or sat in the car on the drive back to Frank’s house. But when Frank had thanked him and apologised and reached for the door handle, he’d felt a hand on his wrist: “No, I’m sorry. I just can’t say right now.” He’d looked tearful, and Frank had squeezed his hand guiltily, wishing he’d just kept his big gob shut.   
  
“It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me.”  
  
“I do. But I’ll tell you another time.”  
  
  
He touched the spot on his cheek where Gerard had leant across to plant a quick kiss before driving away. Maybe asking hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Frank had taken to meeting up with Gerard in town every day during their coinciding lunch hour. For a few days he’d worried about seeming clingy, but when it had turned out that Gerard wasn’t really friendly enough with his colleagues to eat with them, he realised he was wanted as much as he wanted to be there. Gerard always made him eat something – ‘to keep me company’ – but it was worth it to be able to hang around with a friend instead of trying to make himself look invisible at school. And he never felt quite so awful about it if they just bought and ate the same thing at the same time and nothing else. And it was good to know someone actually liked having him around.   
  
  
He’d still make himself sick if he felt too full or if whatever they’d eaten wasn’t exactly healthy, but Gerard never got mad at him for it. If he noticed, he’d just get Frank another drink and make sure he felt okay before going back to school. He still skipped breakfast, threw up after dinner unless it was small and healthy, and threw up even more when he just ate mindlessly and guilt-tripped himself about it; but when he told Jenny he’d started having lunch most days she was delighted. He thought he saw a flicker of something like anxiety cross her face, though, when he mentioned it was because he met up with Gerard. He put it down to his imagination.   
  
  
Washing his hands ever-so-slowly in the bathroom of whatever café they’d decided to haunt this afternoon, Frank glanced at his hair in the wall mirror and messed around it a little, deliberately avoiding looking at the rest of his body, before slapping on the hand dryer and letting the hot air blow water off his skin just as slowly. He smirked slightly and cringed at the same time when he heard Gerard cough outside the door. Rubbing his hands quickly against the sides of his hoody to finish drying them, he unlocked it and stepped out.  
  
  
“Coming to get some water?” It was ridiculous and horrible how routine this had become, even if today was just plain ridiculous.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“You’ll get dehydrated.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“You will.”  
  
“I wasn’t sick.” Gerard raised an eyebrow. Frank couldn’t help it; he grinned.  
  
“You took ages though!”  
  
“Mhhm. How do you know I didn’t just want you to come and give me a hug?”  
  
“You little user.” Unable to keep a straight face for more than a few seconds, Gerard grabbed Frank and squeezed him half to death, not letting him unpin his arms from his sides until a muffled ‘ow’ came from somewhere near his shoulder.  
  


~

  
  
  
Frank was shut in his own locker.   
  
  
This time, unfortunately, he wasn’t just having a nightmare. There was cold blood turning sticky on his face and warm blood slowly retaking its place. His whole body hurt: his bottom lip stung like hell, one side of his face felt swollen, and he’d been kicked so much he thought he might throw up accidentally for once. The metal walls were so close he couldn’t move, and he was trembling, claustrophobia slamming in like waves. He’d been yelling hoarsely for ages.  
  
  
On the brink of giving up, Frank crumpled forward onto the floor in shock when someone finally opened the locker door.   
  
  
“Frank?” Nodding painfully, he looked up to see one of the women from the school office holding a skeleton key, a girl from the year above (obviously the one who’d informed her someone was trapped in a locker) hovering next to her. Office-lady helped him up off the floor and, on further investigation, he saw the contents of his bag scattered everywhere. The actual bag was half stuffed into a nearby bin. He wasn’t surprised to realise his wallet was gone. His phone, too.  
  
  
 _Shit._  His phone was the only place he had Gerard’s number. It doesn’t matter, he told himself quickly, you’ll see him tomorrow. It still made him want to cry though; that people would be cruel enough to try and take Gerard away, even if they didn’t have a clue. It wasn’t fair. Sucking gingerly on his torn lip to force the tears away, he heard the office woman send the girl back to class and say calmly, “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up and call someone to take you home.”  
  
  
She wouldn’t stop questioning him about who had done it and why as she dabbed the blood away carefully with warm water and cotton wool. His nose and lip had bled all over the place, and there was a short, irritating gash above his eyebrow; the sorest side of his face was bruising as well as swollen. He looked disgusting. He’d always thought his features were perhaps semi-decent apart from being too fat, but now they were pretty much puffy and purplish and that was it. He knew if he lifted up his shirt and looked in a mirror he’d be bruised all over his torso as well, so he didn’t think he’d bother.   
  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, what did they look like?”  
  
“The same as everyone else.”  
  
She gave him a look. “Were they in your year?”  
  
“I don’t _know_ , okay?” It wasn’t really a lie. He didn’t know much about them, other than that they were a bunch of bastard jerks.  
  
  
The woman gave Frank an ice pack for his face. He held it there miserably as she kindly went and gathered all his stuff back into his bag, asking someone else in the office to phone his mom. He found himself wishing she had someone better than him for a son – someone who didn’t have to go to a therapist and get picked up from school early because he wasn’t strong enough to stop himself being beat up and shoved into his own locker. She probably wished it too. Full of this notion, he was about to get up and leave – maybe get on a train to New York and just disappear – but office-lady came back to say his mom was driving over, completely ruining the plan. He remembered a few minutes later that he didn’t have his wallet anyway.  
  


~

  
  
  
“Frankie?”  
  
“Mhhm?”  
  
“You know you can talk to me whenever you want, right? I mean, I know you have Jenny to talk to, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to know…”  
  
“Yes, mom.”   
  
  
She’d started rubbing antiseptic cream around the cut on his forehead without asking, and to be honest, he didn’t really feel like having a heart-to-heart over it. He was sixteen. He could do his own antiseptic cream if he wanted to. It was weird how, whenever anything went wrong, his mom instantly acted like he was four years old – especially when most of the time they just argued and bitched at each other.   
  
  
“I have to go back to work. Will you survive?”  
  
“Yep.”   
  
“Good.” Pushing his hair off his face, she landed a kiss on the less-painful side of his forehead. “Love you. See you later.”  
  


~

  
  
  
His stomach hurt as badly as his face. He’d spent the hour since his mom left watching mind-numbing TV and getting brain freeze eating the tub of ice cream he’d taken out to use as a makeshift ice pack for the swelling around his eye and forehead. He should have known he wouldn’t have enough self-discipline to avoid eating it once he actually took it out of the freezer. Not to mention he’d ended up using squirty sauce on it too. And sucked the rest of the squirty sauce out of its tube when there was no more ice cream to squirt it on.   
  
  
His mom was going to ask questions. And he really didn’t want to have to try coming up with an explanation when he didn’t have a clue himself. If she didn’t look for the ice cream or sauce that night, he could buy some more the next day and make it look authentically one-serving-less-than-new, but that was his only escape route, really. Thing was, she knew he made himself sick, but she didn’t know how often or why; she seemed to think he only did it after regular meals. What he actually did was something he’d rather strip off and run around the whole city than admit to her.  
  
  
Well, maybe not that far. But nearly.   
  
  
He’d taken a couple of indigestion pills like he’d promised himself – an attempt to stop the acid ruining his throat – but he’d felt too horrible to sit and keep them down for more than five minutes, and as he brought up what felt like endless amounts of slimy sweet stuff in the bathroom, he was pretty sure they hadn’t had time to work. The sounds of the television in the other room started fading in and out with the sour thumping of his heart, and he had to blink a few times and breathe deeply to steady things out before closing his eyes and reaching in, with a shaky motion that was both reluctant and determined, to get the rest up.  
  
  
Frank felt like he was going to vomit out his vital organs by the time he finally stood up. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor.   
  


~

  
  
  
He’d only been out of it a minute at most. It wasn’t anything serious. Rush of blood out of the head, probably.  
  
  
Honestly? It was fucking scary.


	7. Chapter 7

“You wanna stay off school today?”

  
 _Great._  Even his mom thought he was too ugly to go out. Frank nodded anyway, feeling every bit as bad as he looked.   
  
  
“Okay. I’ll leave some money in the hallway, you can go to the pharmacy later and get something for the bruises if you want. And just call me at work if you need anything.”  
  
“Yeah.” Something else sprung to mind. “By the way, mom, I don’t have my phone anymore. It got nicked yesterday. I don’t know what happened to my wallet either.” Sighing heavily, his mom stopped and leaned against the door in her thick coat.   
  
“This is getting really ridiculous, Frank – it has to stop. I’m going to phone the school later and tell them to sort something out and get your stuff back. People can’t just get away with things like this.”  
  
“Don’t…I’m leaving soon anyway.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“It’ll just make everything worse. They’ll think I grassed on them. Please?”  
  
“You _should_ be grassing on them!” Throwing her hands up in frustration, she shook her head and turned away. “Never mind, we’ll talk about this later when I’m not late for work.”  
  
“Right.” Why couldn’t he have just a little sympathy for once instead of being told off when he hadn’t done anything?  
  
  
Frank showered quickly, sparing only a brief, reluctant glance at the bruises patching the pale body he hated. Then he got dried and showered again, because he couldn’t stop thinking about hot buttered toast and didn’t trust himself to leave the bathroom yet. He was starving hungry, and it wouldn’t go away no matter how angry he got, and he really didn’t want to screw up and get sick first thing in the morning - especially when he felt like shit already.  
  
  
Somehow, miraculously, he managed to get dressed and make it out of the house without stuffing his face with hot, crisp, glistening –  
  
  
 _Stop it, Frank._  
  
  
The pharmacist gave him some gel that was supposed to make bruises disappear faster. He bought some mouthwash as well, to reassure himself that his teeth weren’t about to disintegrate, and then headed to the supermarket with the rest of the money to buy replacement ice cream and sauce. It killed him that he didn’t have enough money to buy anything else since his wallet had been stolen - his mom hadn’t given him any lunch money either. He was supposed to just make himself a sandwich for lunch. Like that’d work.   
  
  
He’d have to find some money in the house when he got home; buy lunch when he met up with Gerard. Except, he was so damn fucking hungry he wanted to open the new ice cream right there and eat it.   
  
 _Don’t._  
  
No. He wouldn’t. But holding out till lunch was an equally large ‘no’, so he’d have to get home pretty fast and make a bit of toast to keep him going. He should have just eaten breakfast, he realised, but what the hell – call it brunch. Brunch sounded okay.  
  


~

  
  
  
“Hello? It’s Frank…I want to stop coming to therapy…” His voice was breaking down the phone.   
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because it’s not working.”   
  
  
Most of a loaf of bread turned into toast had been far too hard to throw up, even covered in butter; Frank had ended up drinking about ten glasses of water and swallowing a handful of indigestion pills in a panic before succeeding in being incredibly sick. He’d felt faint again too, but had stayed down for a few minutes then stood up more slowly to avoid blacking out. After making use of his new mouthwash he’d got straight on the phone to Jenny, convinced she was wasting her time and energy on trying to change a failure like him.  
  
  
“Frank, calm down and explain?”  
  
He realised he’d been breathing rather sharply into the receiver. “I’m doing it in the _morning_ now, and I feel really bad, and I’m just screwing everything up –“  
  
“Then you definitely shouldn’t stop coming to therapy, okay? Listen – don’t beat yourself up about having a bad day. You’re not screwing anything up, no one’s going to get angry with you for it. What do you mean about feeling bad?”  
  
“I can tell you next session, I’m wasting your time on the phone.”  
  
“I don’t have an appointment right now. Keep talking.”  
  
Frank rolled his eyes slightly, although she couldn’t see. “I’m just really dizzy today. I passed out last night but I was okay today.” He regretted saying it straight away. “It’s fine though, I’m not like, fainting all over the place or anything.” Jenny’s concerned face practically projected itself through the phone. Frank hated people worrying about him.  
  
“Are you going to have lunch today?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, try and keep that down, and drink some Gatorade or something, okay?”  
  
“Right. Thanks.”  
  
“See you at your session later?”  
  
"I guess."  
  
“Good.”  
  


~

  
  
  
Gerard usually greeted Frank with a delighted grin and an arm around the shoulders. When they met for lunch today, it was wide eyes and a tight hug and a “Shit, Frank, what happened?”  
  
  
“It’s nothing.” He was so tired he wondered for a second if he was dreaming; he wanted to just fall asleep standing up, head resting between Gerard’s neck and shoulder. “I got beat up yesterday. So I’m off school.”  
  
  
The older guy was furious, swearing he’d personally ‘deal with’ whoever had done it while one hand gestured wildly with a cigarette, but Frank wouldn’t tell him. Not that he could seriously imagine Gerard beating anyone up anyway. Plagued with stomach pains and dizziness, which he was becoming thoroughly sick of, he hinted casually at giving over on the rant and finding somewhere to sit down and have a drink - and Gerard instantly gave his bruised cheekbone a gentle kiss and hurried him off to a café, not so much as mentioning it again. Frank loved him for that, he really did.  
  
  
“Soup and bread, a sandwich or a toastie?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Which do you want?”  
  
“Oh.” He’d gone off in a daze. “Um…soup.” Watching the world go by through the slightly condensed window as Gerard went off to order, Frank silently told himself he was going to eat it slowly like a normal person and not throw up even if he wanted to. It was only soup and one slice of bread. It was healthy. Healthy and normal.  
  
  
The first few spoons hurt like hell going down, but it tasted good, and he finished it gradually once it’d cooled a bit, feeling like everyone was watching him but knowing they weren’t. “I’m taking the rest of the day off work.” Frank looked up at Gerard in surprise. The other was trying to tidy a massive string of melted cheese that had stretched from his toastie into an edible-sized chunk.  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“Because you’re off school and I wanna stay with you,” Gerard replied, making it sound like the simplest thing in the world. Frank smiled a little and shook his head.  
  
“It’s fine, I’m not ill or anything. Go get paid.”  
  
“If I go I’ll just be thinking about you being lonely all day and I won’t concentrate.”  
  
“I promise I won’t get lonely then.” He would. He didn’t want Gerard to go. But he felt bad for making him miss work.  
  
“Oh come on, I know you better than that by now, Frankie. I’m phoning in sick for the rest of the afternoon.” A smirk crept across his pale face. “And you can’t stop me.”  
  
“If I really wanted to stop you I’d be super pissed by now, so I think you’re safe.”   
  
“Knew it.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
  
Gerard was free for the rest of the day. Being around him seemed to slowly fill some bitter hole in Frank that beat any sessions with Jenny or half-conversations with his mom, and he loved it – although he couldn’t figure out what the fuck kind of relationship they had with all the hugging and cheek-kissing, nothing less and nothing more. It was like a small child’s version of love. It was enough to make him happy but not enough to confirm anything. Perhaps that was the way Gerard wanted it.  
  
  
They eventually walked to Gerard’s apartment, because he wanted Frank to meet his grandmother who for some reason he lived with – another mystery to be agonised over. She was a quirky old lady who made them coffee but it was the other’s room that really interested Frank. It wasn’t empty like his. The clutter was the same – CDs everywhere, posters covering the walls, the addition of a lot of pens, pencils and paints in this case – but it didn’t need mess to make it comforting. It was Gerard’s; that was all.  
  
  
The owner flopped down on his single bed, and Frank sat on the edge of it, stifling a giggle and making a remark about the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling when Gerard spontaneously hooked him around the waist and pulled him down beside him. The weirdness of lying on a bed with another guy disappeared in seconds. Replacing it was a raw silence; a calm, extended moment of gazing, until Gerard reached out and started stroking Frank’s hair, and the younger guy suddenly noticed with a chill the long silvery line of skin down his forearm.  
  
  
“What happened?”  
  
  
Both arms were withdrawn almost fearfully. Gerard looked away, obviously trying to block out the question, but Frank wouldn’t take ‘nothing’ as an answer. He pried the arms gently away from Gerard’s chest and kissed the soft, paper-white inside of his wrist without thinking.  _What a morbid version of ‘let me kiss it better’._  “Hey. Come on.”  
  
“I think you can guess.”  
  
“But – when did you do that? Why?”  
  
“You know, I could ask you the same thing.”   
  
  
Frank froze, cold dread seeping through him. The tirade of questions was coming now, right? He should have known Gerard was accepting everything too well for it to last. His face must have shown it because, to his surprise, Gerard suddenly broke down and wrapped him in a tight, shaking hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I just – can’t –“   
  
  
All the dread slipping away as quickly as it had arrived, Frank just squeezed back desperately till he felt the ragged breathing against his neck begin to slow. He hoped he hadn’t gone and undone weeks of therapy. Gerard was apparently more screwed up than he’d imagined. He’d seemed far too normal to have any need of a shrink, up until now. “It’s okay –“  
  
“No, it’s not.” Gerard pulled back slightly to look him in the face, shaking his head abruptly. “You’re beautiful, Frank, you’re smart and amazing and you don’t deserve anything messing with your head or people beating you up in school, but life just sucks sometimes. So I’m gonna tell you everything you should know about me, because you want to know, and I think you should get what you fucking want for once.” He couldn’t tell if Gerard was pissed off with him again or just angry about everything else. It made him nervous. “Yeah, I tried to kill myself. My parents and my little brother got killed in a gas explosion. I wanted to join them. Just carrying on living without them around was too shitty, you know?” Frank nodded quickly. Gerard was talking fast and bitter; he couldn’t help feeling intimidated. “I’ve tried to just _die_ a couple of times which is why I had to take a break from college and get a shrink. I mean, they wouldn’t want someone _dying_ there to ruin their reputation, right? So I’m back here.”  
  
  
Frank held him close and didn’t say anything, thinking he’d finally heard it all. Then came a much smaller murmur: “They said my mom left the gas on by accident and my brother tried to light a cigarette in the bedroom around half one in the morning. I went out and told my parents not to wait up for me ‘cause I’d be back at one, and I never came home till two.” There were tears in Gerard’s voice and it tore at Frank’s heart. “It’s one of those things you replay in your head over and over, you know? It could have turned out differently. If I hadn’t bought him the cigarettes. If I hadn’t been late home, and I’d turned the gas off or stopped him. If I hadn’t said anything to my parents and they’d stayed up a bit later and noticed the smell. It could have just…not happened.”  
  
“You couldn’t have changed it. You didn’t know…everyone stays out later than they’re supposed to sometimes…” Frank’s eyes were burning and he blinked quickly, but Gerard noticed even in his misery and looked chastised.  
  
“Frankie…”  
  
“Sorry, sorry.”  
  
“Don’t cry, I didn’t want to make you sad too…shit, I shouldn’t have said –“  
  
“No, I wanted you to. I’m fine, honesty. It’s just – it’s so unfair.”  
  
“I know.” Gerard breathed a sigh against his shirt collar. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve having you here…“  
  
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I like being with you.” Frank held his breath for a moment, wondering if he should say what he wanted to. _Oh, hell with it._ He’d never come up with a better time, and he was pretty sure Gerard saw him as more than a casual friend anyway. “I, um…look, don’t think I’m being a creep, but I think I love you. Well, I know I do.” His voice was almost comically apologetic. He felt the muscles of Gerard’s face twitch against his shoulder and couldn’t tell for a moment whether he was smiling or grimacing. Probably grimacing. Probably trying to decide how to extract himself from this situation without hurting Frank’s feelings too badly, because he was nice like that; far too nice for Frank to have any chance with him.  
  
  
“I love you too, Frank. You creep.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Frank woke up he was alone on Gerard’s bed. His watch told him it was six in the evening. His mom would kill him if he didn’t get in touch soon, but he lay there with his eyes closed anyway, wondering where Gerard had gone; half hoping he could just sleep there forever, because he never slept properly at home. Whether it was down to bad dreams, waking up every twenty minutes or just not dropping off in the first place, it never seemed to last more than five hours.  
  
“Frankie?” Gerard had reappeared through the door. Opening his eyes again and squirming a little to force the sleepiness away, Frank realised with a shock that his shirt had ridden up while he’d been asleep and pulled it back down in a flash, mortified that Gerard had seen even a few centimetres of the pale, bruised skin covering his disgusting stomach. Trying to act like it hadn’t just scared the shit out of him, Frank sat up on the bed and forced a small, apologetic smile.  
  
“Hey. Sorry I fell asleep, I’m a shitty guest…just wake me up if I do it again.”  
  
“Nah, you looked tired.” Gerard smiled back more genuinely. “Grandma’s wondering if you wanna stay for dinner.”  
  
  
Frank shrugged, making a valiant attempt not to let his face fall. He’d have to eat dinner if he went home anyway – but at home, he could make a fuss and get away with only eating half of it. If he ate here he’d have to be polite and finish whatever got put on his plate. Then again, he was starving hungry…and he had mouthwash in his rucksack, if he needed it…and who knew, maybe Gerard’s grandmother didn’t make large meals anyway?   
  
  
He didn’t realise he was chewing on his lip anxiously until Gerard bounced down on the bed next to him and started rubbing between his shoulders soothingly. “You shouldn’t worry about shit so much…” A surge of wanting to cry again hit him unpleasantly; he fought it away.   
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Stop apologising all the time too!” Knowing perfectly well he was being hypocritical, Gerard laughed and kissed Frank’s slightly pasty cheek. “You decide if you wanna stay or not, my grandma won’t be offended or anything if you don’t.”  
  
“My phone got stolen, I need you to write your number down for me again.” Gerard snatched a stray notebook off his bedside table and scribbled the number in it before tearing it out and handing it to Frank. “Thanks.”  
  
“Okay, but don’t change the subject.”  
  
“It’s not that I don’t want to stay –“ The words tried to stifle themselves, but he rearranged them and forced them out, because Gerard was the one person he found himself wanting to admit things to. “I just don’t want to have dinner. Can’t we tell your grandma I’m not feeling great and then I can stay for a while anyway? I mean, if you want me to, I’m not inviting myself –“  
  
“What, and then you can tell your mom you already had dinner here?” Frank nodded in relief – then looked miserable again as Gerard shook his head and said softly, “Frank, I love you, I honestly do, so please don’t be mad at me, but I’m not your partner in crime or anything. I don’t wanna lie. I can tell grandma you were off school and ask if you can have like, a half portion, if you want…just please don’t make me watch you sit there hungry and not eat anything, I can’t stand that.” Frank stared at his knees, guilty and pissed off at the same time.   
  
“If you loved me, you’d let me.” He felt even worse for saying it. It was a low blow. “Oh, forget it, I’ll just go home…”  
  
“No. Listen to me for a minute, okay? I’m _asking_ you to eat something because I don’t want you getting ill like you were earlier. You really think I want to just stand back and let you torture yourself till you end up dizzy and shit? I can’t do that, Frank, even if you hate me for it.”  
  
“I don’t want to.” His nails were digging into his palms.  
  
“I know you don’t, but will you have a tiny bit for me? Please?”  
  
  
It reminded Frank of an adult playing nice to try and make a grumpy child finish their vegetables – patronising. And although Gerard’s arm was warm around his shoulders, and he felt like breaking down and crying that he was so hungry he couldn’t possibly stop at ‘a tiny bit’, and that it was disgusting and unfair - his anger won out.   
  
  
“I said I don’t want to! Am I not speaking English? God!” Grabbing his jacket, he headed for the door. “I’m going home. See you.”  
  
“Frank…”   
  
“Bye.”  
  


~

  
  
  
“Frank.”  
  
  
His mom was waiting when he got home – not to give him the third degree for staying out past dinnertime without telling her where he was, but to reveal, confrontation-style, that she’d raked through his room and retrieved a bag of rubbish along with his vitamin and indigestion pills from under the bed.   
  
  
He wanted to kill himself.  
  
  
“Are you going to explain to me what’s going on, or do I have to guess it all for myself and keep sending you to therapy without a clue?” Her eyes were teary; it was nothing compared to how he felt. “Well?”  
  
“Mom, I really don’t fucking need this right now, please, just don’t –“  
  
“Don’t talk to me like that.”  
  
“What, is all you care about the _fucking_ language?!”  
  
“Frank!”  
  
“ _Leave me alone_! And stay out of my room!”   
  
  
Flooded with tears and shame and hate, Frank dodged past her and slammed his bedroom door, locking it behind him. He flung himself down on the bed before deciding it was too comfortable for him after everything he’d just done and standing up again, crying quietly into the wall until he got so choked he could hardly breathe and then sitting down cross-legged on the floor.  
  
 _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._  And all he really wanted was for someone to hold him tight now and let him apologise; make them mugs of something to drink together and not ask difficult questions. But he’d pushed Gerard away, and he’d pushed his mom away, and because he had no one else and wasn’t ready to come out of his room yet, he couldn’t try to say sorry to either of them.  
  
  
He would have cried more if he had any energy left.  
  
  
He listened at the door for his mom to go to bed so he could come out. Eventually, after making a lot of noise cooking and showering, she did – but first, she stood outside his door and told him through the wood that she was sorry; that she hadn’t meant to pressurise him and only wanted to know because she cared. That really made him feel like a piece of shit for a son. And a piece of shit for a friend too…how could he have thrown a fucking strop and left like that after Gerard telling him everything about his family?  _Bastard._    
  
  
Phoning up and apologising was definitely a higher priority than getting something to eat first. Unlocking his bedroom door quietly, Frank crept halfway down the dark hallway and retrieved the phone from the table, dragging the cord along the carpet so he could talk in his room without waking his mom up. It occurred to him that Gerard might be asleep already too, but he’d dialled before the thought popped into his head and there didn’t seem any point in hanging up once it’d started ringing. The guy picked up after two rings. He obviously hadn’t been asleep.  
  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hey, it’s Frank. Look I’m really, really sorry about earlier…”  
  
“Oh, it’s fine, I probably deserved it –“

“You didn’t. I was just in a bad mood.”

“It doesn’t matter, Frank. Forget it.”  
  
“Are you drunk or something?” The slightly crackly voice coming through the phone sounded slurred. Another surge of guilt went through Frank’s chest.  
  
“Maybe a little…why, do you mind? You can’t make me stop it if I want to be. You demonstrated that already.” That hurt.  
  
“I know, I’m so sorry –“  
  
“I don’t feel good. I’m going to bed.”  
  
“Right. Just take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
  
He wondered miserably if Gerard would even remember his apology in the morning.  _Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?_  If he’d just stayed over for dinner, he wouldn’t have fallen out with _anyone_ – and since he was about to go and eat whatever his mom had cooked and left in the fridge earlier, the whole exercise had been completely pointless. He might as well have had dinner when he’d been asked and prevented becoming this painfully hungry. Gerard would have gone to bed without getting off his face, and he might have come home in a good enough mood to avoid swearing at his mom.   
  
  
Creaking out of his room and placing the phone back on the hall table dejectedly, Frank went through to the kitchen and opened the fridge to find out what’d been made for dinner: pasta, covered with clingfilm. What a coincidence. He pulled the film off and ate it anyway, stabbing with a fork like the stuff had done some grievous injury to the whole of mankind. It was cold, and it didn’t taste of much, and he barely paused to feel it go down his throat, but it nudged every apology and ache of loneliness to some corner of his mind that didn’t need to be considered; drowned them like alcohol. He put cheese on his pasta then made cheese sandwiches, and was on to yoghurt when he dripped a bit on his shirt by accident and suddenly realised what the fuck he was doing.  
  
  
The inevitable hangover followed. He threw up. Brushed his teeth, went to bed. Woke up dizzy and hungry again and wished he’d just died in his sleep, although he’d barely managed to get much sleep anyway. If he didn’t have Gerard to force a smile onto his face every afternoon, Frank was pretty sure he’d have ended it already – and now he’d screwed that relationship up too.  
  
  
Well. He’d just have to try harder.


	9. Chapter 9

“When you phoned a few days ago –“  
  
“I’m fine now.”  
  
“What did the doctor say?”  
  
“You’ve got it on the computer, why ask me?” Frank glowered at Jenny. Suffice it to say that being in therapy wasn’t making him feel any better today. She sighed lightly, a clear indication that he was being difficult.  
  
“I wanted to make sure you still knew.”  
  
“I’m not thick.”  
  
“I know. Tell me how you’ve been doing, though.”  _Great._  Here was the open-ended question, one of her favourites and one of his least.   
  
“If you really want to know, I’ve had a shit week and I don’t want to be here.”  
  
“What’s been bad about it?”  _God, do you NEVER stop asking questions?_  
  
“I got beat up in school and gained a pound and fell out with my mom and Gerard. And then I had to come here.” She looked slightly insulted, and he smiled bitterly.  
  
“Why did you fall out with them?”  
  
“Just did.”  
  
“Okay. Why did you reschedule your appointment for this early in the morning?”  
  
“Because I’m not going to school, so I might as well get it out of the way early. And I didn’t want to sit with Gerard in the waiting room.”  
  
“Aren’t you going to un-fall out with him?”  
  
“Well _yeah_ , I’m meeting him for lunch today, but just in case, you know, he doesn’t want to talk to me or something…”  
  
“All right. So, you said on the phone that you’d been binging and purging in the morning as well as the evening?” He nodded uncomfortably, shoes resting on the edge of the chair so he could hug his knees to his chest.  
  
“I hate that expression. Can we just stick to ‘throwing up’?”  
  
“Sure. But do you think there’s any particular reason for it happening in the morning?”  
  
“Probably just ‘cause I’m not in school. I don’t have anything to do at home till I go out for lunch.” Frank shrugged, and then looked up at her sharply. “That doesn’t mean I wanna go back to school yet though.”  
  
“I wasn’t suggesting that. Do you have breakfast?”  
  
“Not usually.”  
  
“Well, how about trying this: don’t wait till you get starving hungry. Have breakfast with your mom whenever you wake up, then get out of the house for the rest of the morning – window shop, go swimming, whatever, and then meet up with Gerard for lunch. You might find it easier just not being stuck at home.”  _What the fuck does she know?_  
  
“Yeah, I’ll try it.” An infuriating smile spread across Jenny’s face.  
  
“Try it for more than two days this time?”  
  
Frank glared.  
  


~

  
  
  
“Hey.”  
  
  
Gerard merely pulled a strained smile in response to Frank’s presence, looking miserable and hung over. They walked in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, until Frank broke it with a murmured, “Are you mad at me?” Gerard shook his head with a wince.  
  
“No. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“But you were drunk –“  
  
“So? That doesn’t mean I was mad. I felt like getting drunk, it’s not a big deal.”  
  
“Okay…” Sighing heavily – unsure whether Gerard was lying or if he was just being naïve – Frank followed him for a while before plucking up the courage to ask where they were actually going.  
  
  
“Mine.”  
  
“Don’t you have to go back to work soon?”  
  
“I’m off sick again. Look, do you wanna come round for lunch or are you gonna keep making excuses, ‘cause I’m not forcing you.” Frank’s eyes widened slightly.  
  
“I’m not making excuses, I was just asking…” He ended up having to jog a little every few steps to keep up, since Gerard was clearly in a bad mood whatever he said and strode along as if trying to shake Frank off. The whole thing was annoying – especially trying to climb two flights of stairs to the apartment two or three steps at a time. He felt like he was going to fall flat on his face by the time they got inside, at which point Gerard instantly set about slapping together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without a word. Frank stood in the doorway watching for a few minutes before he cracked. “Will you please just tell me what’s wrong if it isn’t me?”   
  
  
No response. “Can’t you even say part of it? You said you loved me.” So, he hadn’t expected it to come out sounding like blackmail, but what the fuck. He’d expected the answer he received even less.  
  
“I did.”   
  
  
Frank’s chest felt like imploding, and his vision swam with sudden tears; that hadn’t been anticipated either. Shocked, he blinked up at the white ceiling desperately in an attempt to squeeze them back in and didn’t do particularly well.  _What the fuck happened to composure?_  
  
  
Thing was, he could kid himself all he liked that it hadn’t meant anything, but it _had_. Since when did ‘love’ not mean anything? Even just friendship-love wasn’t supposed to be abandoned like that. It wasn’t fair and it hurt, as it should. Even thinking about it made his composure, or lack thereof, worse.  
  
  
The hard detachment in Gerard’s face slipped away like water when he finally turned round, a plate in each hand, and saw Frank swallowing away tears in the kitchen doorway – it was impossible to stay detached from that. Completely impossible. He’d dropped the plates on the table and wrapped his arms tight around the younger guy in under a second, finding it difficult not to cry himself when he heard a muffled sniff and felt Frank’s face burning against his shoulder, a low and wavering voice asking, “Why –?“  
  
“Please –“  
  
“But why not anymore?” He could sense either more tears or anger building like electricity in the air, and he kissed Frank’s cheek quickly, terrified of being at the tail end of it, painfully sorry that he’d caused it.  
  
“Frankie, please…I don’t want to love you if you’re just gonna get mad at me and walk out one day –“  
  
“I phoned you! I said I’m sorry!”  
  
“I know, but one day you’ll get sick of me and not come back, and I can’t fucking deal with that.”  
  
“How do you know?? You can’t just _predict_ me like –”  
  
“Exactly! You’re unpredictable, and you hold things back, and I get too attached to people, Frank, I couldn’t handle it if you just left or decided you hated me. And I can’t take watching you hurt yourself anymore when you won’t even try and make me understand! You don’t tell me anything.” His own eyes were filling up, but he refused to cry when it was Frank that needed the explanation. “You make yourself sick and all I can do is get you water, because I’m so scared of you turning on me that I can’t even ask questions, and I hate it.”  
  
“But you make me feel better that way. I hate questions.”  
  
“I hate not knowing.” There went Frank’s impression that Gerard just accepted everything and let him get on with it. He missed it already.  
  
  
Breathing out against the guy’s shoulder, feeling destitute, Frank said quietly, “I’m sorry.”  _But don’t tell me you don’t love me. I can’t stand that._  “I’ll try harder though, I swear. You don’t need to worry about me or anything, and I’d never just leave, and you can ask anything you want…”  
  
“I don’t want to be the one holding you down. You could do so much better than me.”  
  
“I don’t want anyone else and no one else even likes me! Gerard, if I felt like you were holding me down, do you really think I’d be here? I might be a shitty person but I’m not that stupid.” Gerard laughed a little.  
  
“You’re not a shitty person either. Look, I was lying when I said I didn’t love you anymore and I’m so sorry. I can’t help it even though I don’t want to. But you know, if you don’t want to deal with _me_ being stupid, just leave now, seriously, ‘cause I don’t wanna be a bad influence on you.”  
  
“Don’t be silly, I’m staying.”  
  
“Thank you.” Gerard pulled back slightly to kiss his cheek again, and Frank moved and caught his lips, only to be looked at in momentary surprise. A sudden terror hit him that he must have become delusional, reading things into the other’s words and actions that hadn’t been there, convincing himself that Gerard loved him in _that_ way and not just as a friend; he immediately opened his mouth to start apologising, but just then Gerard’s face broke into a sunlit smile, and he leaned close to press their lips together again.  
  
  
Frank had always thought that soft-focus and pink hues only happened in bad movies, but he was happy to be proven wrong.


End file.
